Silent Suffering

Decided to make another poem on the poem "I Rage On". I think this one is more true to the original.

I’ll Rage On

 

I’ll rage on through the blood and the tears

A rage that burns through all my pain, a fury that cuts through any sadness, face human fear, make the mistakes disappear

 

Drying my tears with the flames of hatred, fighting forever full of madness, satanically savage, hopelessly ravaged, getting through the average day and dismay

I rage on

 

I’ll rage on through the evil people with intent to kill, drinking my ink in, medicate my sin with some pills until they get their fill, unstoppably monstrous

Through those who think they are better than me, let the soon to be beheaded be ready to see the axeman hold steady, to remember everything to the last lettering before you lose your shattered dreams and become a broken being put through the everyday shredder a regular mess to be cleaned up again

Through the unacceptable times my soul has been wrecked to s**t, fit to be ripped from my skin, pried from my sin, my spirit made dim, to swim through the ruination I can never win, I’m empty within, crimson

 

Countless times people kicked me while I was down, and when you’re living under the burial mound of silent isolation never to be found, you cannot hear a sound

Do I look back? Never

I rage on through the segregation of human bonds severed, through the punishment delivered, through the hatred, the wrong, the pain that remains unforgiven, for the love that’s dismembered, for the fury still living, commended by the heavens, resembled by hell’s leverage

 

I’ll rage on through this frigid world where cold souled people with steel hearts living in a fishbowl beat down on each other with their words, mauling the fallen in a frozen wasteland of despair where no one is really heard, made to shiver alone,  without love or mercy, a throne of self-pity and self-love, a frozen life when you yourself shatter the stragglers and matter above all cataclysm

Yet these torturers still ask for a helping hand and demand courtesy after all the pain they’ve caused, the people their murdering, tasked to operate and do surgery on each other, but why should you bother to cure the hurting while the blood is curdling?

You’d prefer manslaughter in the third degree than waste your time with empathy for beings that are below your feet, fit to be stepped on as their fate was meant to be, swept under the rug, retreating into the darkness afraid of the spark of hellfire to burns through the shadows that perspire like a wildfire

 

I’m unable to accept a world that is full of hate towards the people I love, I suffer from my service, nervously accepting my sentence, my servitude, it hurts, but it’s never enough, no matter what good I do, I cannot prove my truth, which fuels my own hatred, which I then spit through my open mouth and eyelids like a river

I am privileged to live in this open prison and hit the guards where it stings then give them a bruise or two until they bleed crimson for their brutality of criminality creating a cycle of bloodshed that will always continue, trading suffering for hate, and hate for more suffering, sinful fools will feud until they turn to glue and return to nothing, frantically hoping to cauterize and close their gaping flowing wounds, watch the hatred ooze from it, free from humility, nobly destroying another's dreams

I rage on, but do I really have any choice? If I don’t scream then do I even have a voice?

When the world is full of noise rejoicing to continue divorcing and coercing reversing the good from the person and cursing until our throats turn hoarse in hell’s furnace again, will anyone finish? When we live in a self-righteous prison, will anyone listen?

 

I walk through the hatred, latently impatient, my rage swallowing the pain, although the anger still remains

Mass destruction always follows creation, someday the slayers will be slain as the times change, switching places again and again, and who’s really to gain when we all taste pain?

And who’s really to blame for the people they maul and maim? Who is deranged, who is consumed by the hate? It changes every day

In another few years, they’ll taste another justice for their victory all the same

See, I learn from this world of sorrow, and now I’m going insane exclaiming the fascism fed on our plate needs to be vomited away

I don't want to be here anymore; sometimes I wish I’d never been born, between the wars and justifiable gore, what do we fight for? Who do we live for? Why do we sin for? Why do we stay cruel?

Are we the devil’s tools, what do we act like such fools for?

I don’t want to be this cycle of rage’s w***e

In my luxurious open windowed free ranged padded cell, I smell the sorrow in the air, I rage on, telling everyone the unfair atrocities that have been done to me by humanity so stupidly, unaware

As if it would change things

Hoping somebody will hear me. Cheer me on through this wrong; give me a reason to push on, foolishly thinking my inhumanly insurmountable problems would be gone, if I carry on and show where I came from

Pretend I’m so morally hopeful, so impossibly strong, so doped up like a superman, as if I’m chilling playing video games with god, say that I can make horrible enemies friendly with chivalry, poetry and songs, take a hit from a bong, offer reasoning for love and somehow get along

But the more I talk and rattle on, the more I see the damage that’s done, the wounded guns have more than enough reason to shoot

And the sadness runs through our veins through our blood like loose shackles and chains that estrange change shaping our ways, and make us remain hatred stained, ever prisoners to our own system, no one wants to feel unforgiven, but no one listens

And when I trade warm feelings for bloodlust, hatred for love lost, I can see my words are as valuable as vinegar for men dying of thirst

And I could curse and rehearse, and loathe you until I choke on my own hatred, light those flames and send those smoke signals until my ignorant evils reveal themselves and I can say I’m just like you are

I could give in to my sin until it resurfaces like a symbiote from the crimes done in complacency, and the plagued memories rebirth, seeing what I call injustice, and my feelings and opinions so ancient, so alienated, and these emotions still run deep within, when I look at the faces of those who are not here anymore, never fading, it f*****g hurts, the pain leaves me corrupted

Shouting from my lunges for redemption, the souls are silent under the pavement, so deep and unsung, so vicious, so naked through the sorrow dripped mirth liquid, patiently done away with, and dusty dead are bygones, latent inside me, sacredly sprouting straight from the earth, from my sadness inside of my mind, my hide, my tongue, your lies, and every mistake we’ve done for our rights above others, they live inside me, anger I could never say goodbye too

Am I to bury my dreams in the earth?

Still kicking, alive, as I bleed my friendship disease aside and cry on despite it all is, that’s appalling, and I breathe in the toxins these emotions bring on, enthralled by them until I’m boxed in with my feelings of loss and flowers grow on my grave and I’m lost, gone, let me lie down for good, and say I saved a little cost of oxygen for you, depraved as a fake saint wishing for the best for the human race as I drown without a trace in the dry ground consumed

What is the right thing to do? Who is right and who is wrong? 

The line blurs between myself and you

Just because I do have something to say about pain I feel like I’ve just been thrown away, maybe I should have behaved? But could wishes undo? Should I not speak my truth? Do my beliefs, my sorrow mean nothing to you?

I could cry out for reason, in this species-wide treason, for hope and humanity, for goodness and sanity

Or I could hate you for all that you’ve taken, the love, the people I believed in, the state that you leave them, crippled and bleeding, blind and unneeded, starving and beaten, silently screaming

But would that change anything? Would that save anyone?

How can I break this, this bond of livid unforgiveness we made, our feelings are sacred, crimson, it’s the way we’ve been made, how can I heal? How can we change? How can we fight this cycle of rage? This silent suffering? This wounded way?

Are we just shadows who melt away in the shade, merely puppets that play on the tug of a string? Will this cycle, this silent shouting, this darkness, hatreds spark spouting flames still remain even after the blame, even after the grave? Will that shame stay, and we will do away with our enemies for eternity?

Trying to shake this rage made sweat stain from my face, afraid of the rain that drowns the suffering of fate and cleans my spirit from the feelings of this grey slate world, like sulfuric acid, a grace that takes the spite and my fight down the drain, is humanity a masochist?

The anger inside me whispers to me, I cannot help but listen in, hand quivering, brow furrowing, pain withering, hate slithering

It says:

Hope is a faze, fear is a strain, hate is a lyric, love is a game

Friendships a lie, kinship a sin, a cry for help humanities insanity and anger remains above all else, no way to help 

Like a stain on history, after we die, a fabricated lie beneath the benevolent shell that shows our true colours, the devil still whispering inside with dark eyes mutters

While we're listening, why? Is this comedy commanding me to bleed? Are we deciding to be divided? God is disapproving above us, wishes our true desires stayed quiet

Life finds its own ending, it's own riot, and sometimes death lets birth begin, but in this circle of sin, hate is immortal, in our rotten hearts it continues to live past tomorrow, feeding off sorrow, off dark feelings we've borrowed

But even if you know that like I do, mute tongues cannot sing, so if you wrote down the words, and the advocates heard you chime in, could you mop up an ocean, of blood, of sin? 

As you drown in these waters, the evil we've fathered, the feelings we swallow the humanity discarded, would it change anything? 

Would humanity bother to listen to one voice speak while everyone shrieks, while the warriors and destroyers continue to sing their death chants, feeding the system, sustaining the sickness in everything, feeding the demands, destroying other lands, blood on the sands, severing the helping hands, medicating hatred on their enemies

Nothing can stop this silent sorrow, the war will not simply blow over, despite the dead buried under the clovers

Burning through the world all over, a ravaged rash until it covers everyone, and hate's rabid yell becomes so loud that our ears bleed hopelessness, nothing else but habit all over again

 

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Zhavy]

This is great, could read the whole thing but got a good idea, seems comparable to my Harold Lauder impression poem, not nearly in length or scope but I love you were able to explore a dystopian world and mind that comes along with it, great writing brother. Fear is a great thing to explore it's the source of all emotion.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm always happy when another writer enjoys my poems. I'll be sure to check out your work out as well, although I'm not much of a reviewer, you can bet I'll take a good look. Thank you for reviewing my work, I'm always happy to share my view point, and look at the veiw points of others.

[.]

As always, you have depicted things in an awesome way. And as always you impressed me. I learn a lot from each of the new piece you share with me. Your poems affects your readers' thoughts in a positive way and that's the best thing!
Just don't ever stop writing because at least I will miss them a lot.
So keep writing and Good Luck!

And I want to add this poem as a blog post on our website with your permission.

Thank you!

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

You have my permission, as always, thank you, and thanks for the review!

[Ghost writer]

that's powerful, our writing is a lot a like, We use similar metaphors and I always understand what your saying and feeling, yours are so long though, I don't know how you do it, no matter how much passion a have it's always short-ish. Yours also have a better rhythm then mine.

[wordman]

but the rage only comes back to haunt you